Take A Thief
by Distorted Pheonix
Summary: Despite the magical world's insistence they won't hold Sirius' radically different past against him, its all too obvious they prejudice against him after his arrest.
1. The Whore's Dignity

The chains chafed at his wrists, but the convict took no note. The fight was gone from the once happy man, drained in a single night. This whole charade was the icing on the cake. He could almost see the world rubbing the salt into his wound. But he didn't care. Not anymore.

Life had obviously had it in for him. Maybe he'd made a mistake all those years, not keeping it a secret. But who wants to live life a lie? As long as the choice was there, he wouldn't live a lie. Not like Remus. That was the difference, though. He had had a choice. Remus hadn't. Whether he had chosen right was another story.

Until today he thought he had chosen right. Never once had it interfered with life, and in fact had enhanced it quite a bit. Even last night it had helped him as he scurried through the ruins, trying to find any sign of them. But today....oh, god, today of all days....

It hadn't even come into his mind as a factor until the moment Peter had "killed" himself. In that instant, he knew that it would influence the Ministry, that he wouldn't even get a trial because of it. After all, who trusts a thief? 

"He is to be taken to Azkaban immediately. What? A trial? No! No trial. I saw it with my own eyes! The man- What? Veritaserum? Whatever for, Dumbledore? No, no, I tell you, I saw him do it. With his record especially, it couldn't have been anything else. No! The matter is closed, Headmaster. There will be no more discussion."

No emotion registered on the accused's face, but inside a range of emotions from utter despair _(Why me?! Why James?! Why Lily and Harry?!)_ to uncontrollable rage _(I'll kill the rat, I swear it on my life!)_ warred with one another. Despair won for the moment, swallowing him into an unconsolable maw of complete and total desperation. _(James is dead! Dead! De-e-a-a-d....)_

  
  


* * *

  
  


The four year old hugged Sheri tightly around the waist, tears streaming from his eyes. A bruise was already blossoming on his cheek, part of his anguish, as the terrified tot buried his face in her skirts. 

"Mama just *hic* hit me again, Sheri. I dun-*hic*-no why, though. Doesn't she *hic* love me? I love *hic* her! Why doesn't Mama *hic* love me, Sheri?"

The winsome blonde smoothed his black hair and held him steady as the little boy cried himself out. When the hiccups had stopped, she knelt down to his height, looking him in the eyes. 

"Mama loves you, Sirius. She just has a hard time showing it because every time she sees you...Well, you were the one mistake she's ever made, Sirius."

"M-mist-t-t-take?"

The child was still stuttering from muscles tense from sobbing, trying to keep the tears from flowing. It was at the point where it wasn't that he wouldn't stop, but that he couldn't stop. 

"Sirius...Do you know what Mama does?"

"Y-yeah. Sh-sh-she's a whore."

"And you know what a whore is, right?"

"Uh huh" He did live in a whorehouse, after all. 

"Well, Sirius, she didn't mean to have you. No whore is expecting child. But she forgot to protect herself and along you came. And every time she sees you, it's like reopening a scab.

The boy nodded knowledgeably. He knew all about scabs. 

"There now, do you understand?"

"I s'ppose so."

"Good boy."

* * *

  
  


The man started as that memory faded. It had been a long time since he had thought about Sheri. She had been his surrogate mother, drying his tears when his blood mother had abused him, comforting him when Mama had rejected him. Despite being a whore herself, she had been a kind person, and the only thing between himself and the streets for five years. Until the-

His mind shied violently away from thought. No point in dwelling on further misery. Not now, anyways.


	2. The Street Rat's Wits

Sirius argued heatedly with the shop owner. Despite his mere five years, he knew that the vender was attempting to cheat him. The average price for oranges was half again as low as the man was demanding. Inwardly, the child cracked a grin. The man was in for a big surprise.

"Five for the kilo, boy!"

"Half a pound."

"What?!? No, I won't take less than four."

"Three quarters, then."

"Three and a half I say, and that's my final offer."

Seeing that this was no bluff, Sirius threw in his final trick.

"Alright. Two and a half."

Startled by the sudden rise in price, the vendor instantly agreed, shaking the boy's tiny hand in his own large paw to seal the bargain. A moment later, chagrin splayed across his features as he realized he had been outmaneuvered. Since the price for which the orange had been purchased that morning was two and a half, the street rat had just conned him out of any profit. The large man shrugged. A deal was a deal. He turned his back to fill a sack of the fruit, handing it over as the money crossed his hands.

The little boy dashed away with his booty, racing for the Whore's District before the gates were closed. If he didn't make it there before dusk, he'd be shut out from his home until the morning. And worse, when he did get back, his mother would hit like she always did when he did something wrong. (Hurry! Hurry! Run fast home to your mother!) In his haste, he tripped over the uneven cobblestones in the streets of Old Market. The sprawl that resulted not only scraped his knee and cheek, but the sack of oranges split and rolled all over the ground. Swearing softly to himself, he pulled the ratty t-shirt off his head and deftly tied a knot at the top. The youth scampered after the oranges, but by the time he had finally caught them all, dusk had fallen. Dashing the final few blocks, Sirius reached the closing gate's just in time to see a sliver of the Factory District through the gate. With a thump of his fist on the thick wall, he turned away, seeking other shelter.

When the child woke the next morning, he uncurled stiffly from the position he'd found beneath the docks. Jumping up smartly as he remembered his unfinished errand, short little legs began to move swiftly, passing through the now open gate with a wave to the guard. A few minutes later he stopped in front of the House, horrified by the vision before him. 

Firemen were working furiously to extinguish a blaze that was devouring the entire building. Screams could be heard inside, but by the firemen's tortured look, there was no possible way those inside could be saved. Only seconds later the screaming died down, but that did not console the boy any. The sack of oranges forgotten on the curb, he tried to run inside the burning building, to find Sheri, to save her. Yelling in frustration as a fireman hauled him back, he watched hopelessly as all he had ever known burned to the ground.

Before the blaze was over though, he'd left, knowing now that there was nothing he could do. Even now, the memory of his mother was fading from his five year old mind, but Sheri remained as crisp of ever. _(Was she happy now?)_ He mourned her far more than the woman he called Mama. But the way of a street rat is not to dwell on things. With only one more look at the wreckage, Sirius made his way into the heart of London.

  
  


* * *

  
  


London. That part of his life was so long ago, so very far behind him. Had he really been that free? _(I was free?)_ No one had known who he was, where he was, from where he had come. Nor had anyone cared. He was in charge of only himself, and only he. Not now. Now he was everyone's but his own, to laugh at, to scorn, to deride and rage at. He was the scapegoat of the public, the play toy of the Dementors, the captive of the Ministry. 

A year in Azkaban and an eternity in hell. For the rest of his life he must endure this? No, the captive decided, eyes more sane then they had been for his entire tenure so far in the murky dungeons. But I longer must I stay here, he further mused. _(Longer? What is longer than eternity?)_

Darkest star in the sky. Darkest star in the sky. Darkest star in the sky. That's what the public had chanted during his trial - or non trial, rather. Just a declaration of his punishment made by Fudge. Darkest star in the sky. Darkest star in the sky. But that wasn't right, was it? Sirius. Sirius. The Dog Star. It was the brightest star in the sky. _(Is it? I can't remember. I last saw the sky so long ago)_ And so was he._ (Are you? Remember Peter, remember who recommended him)_.

The Dementors began their evening rounds for dinner. Mentally, Sirius began going over his life piece by piece, memory by memory, clinging desperately to his last grip to sanity.


	3. The Beggar's Pride

One thousand two hundred twenty two. One thousand two hundred twenty three. One thousand two hundred twenty four. A single finger moved slowly across his line of vision, counting bricks. One thousand two hundred twenty five. Eyes deadened from lack of life follow the filthy digit as it makes its way across his own little personal hell hole. One thousand two hundred twenty six. Was that screaming he heard? Probably some new inmate. He'd learn. One thousand two hundred twenty seven. They all learned after a while.

One thousand two hundred twenty seven. Or was it twenty nine? No, it was twenty eight. He was sure of it. Outside, the screaming grew louder. 

"William! William! Oh God, don't touch me! William! _Willia-a-a-am!_"

His finger faltered, but the convict resumed counting momentarily. That was Clarissa's voice. He remembered her from school, her brown hair so long she could sit on it, a long and shimmering veil that enhanced her mystique. A Ravenclaw, his mind recalled slowly. She'd turned to the dark, though. Married William Lestrange, a notorious Slytherin. No surprise she was here now.

A rat scurried from a hole out into a corner of his cell. A happening glance at it and the man lunges at it, overcome for it by a fit of rage. 

"_Peter! James and Lily, Peter, James and LILY!_"

In mid lunge the swift transformation to canine is made and the not quite foaming beast snaps his jaws in frustration as the rat makes good its escape, frightened out its furry little wits. Sirius loathed rats. They reminded of him of Peter, which sent him into a fit of fury. But he'd never managed to catch one, to snap its neck in two, crush its skull, like he wanted so badly to do to Peter. Perhaps it was symbolic. Maybe he'd never catch a rat until the one he really wanted was dead.

  
  


* * *

  
  


_"You. Boy. You, there."_

A soft whispering in his ear startled the youth and he whirled around, blue eyes wide with astonishment at the sight that awaited him. A beggar, dressed in rags that had seen better days as dishcloths, grinned at him. Black gaps within the yellowed dentures sent a reeking smell towards the young Sirius and he stepped back. Knobbly knees and a cane marked the man's difficulty in walking and the long beard he wore was white and wispy, the few strands of it tangled and marred with dirt.

"What do you want?"

"Come here."

With no small bit of trepidation, the youth made his way towards the beggar. The moment he came within reach of those long, knobbly arms, the grasped him around his bicep, drawing the boy closer. Thin, twisted fingers rubbed dirt into his face, his hair, his clothes. Before Sirius even thought of squirming from the lunatic's grasp, a chipped cup was shoved into his hands and the man smiled toothily at him.

"Better. We'll do some adjustments later."

Sirius stared at him.

"Well, go on then. Start begging. People always give more money for the children."

He turned away, but remained nearby, beginning his screechy call once more.

"Pennies! Pennies for the poor! I've got a child to feed, but no money to feed him with!"

Several strangers passed by without a few second glance. One gave only a withered glance and a superior sniff before walking away, but a couple others dropped some coins into Sirius's cup. Bewildered, he stared into the depths at the grubby bits, but was jolted out of his wonder when the container was pulled from his hand and emptied into that of the beggar. Indignant, he protested, causing heads to turn.

"Hey! Those are mine!"

"Hush, boy! Want them to set the police on us!"

"You stole my pennies!"

"Be quiet! All right, all right, look. Tonight, I'll take you back with me and show you how to look more pitiful, you know, to get more money, eh? In exchange, you stay with me during the day so people will give us more money."

"Well, I s'ppose so."

"There's a good lad. Pennies for the poor!"

By the end of the day, not much money had been made, but the beggar smiled at their pitiful earnings all the same.

"Best lot I've had in years. You must be lucky, boy. Come with me."

He tottered away, quick enough that the youth had to scramble enough to keep up with him. Leading him through such a maze of streets that even the street wise boy was dizzy with turning, the beggar halted before an inn.

The Gambler's Dice, the sign said, and from the decrepit condition, it had been around for a long time. Being in the slums didn't help much either. As the two entered the kitchen through a side door, Sirius wrinkled his nose. Sour ale and sweat were the prevalent odors, but there were other, worse smells beneath their cover.

That night, by the fire, the beggar told him about begging. His name was Gerard, and he'd learned the art of begging from another beggar. Sirius was wide eyed by now. He hadn't even known there was an art to begging. He set about to learning it with great gusto.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The convict scowled. He remembered that portion of his life only vaguely, but he was still familiar with all the tricks. He remembered how to wrap his body tightly with bandages to make it look thinner, how to make his face pale or wan, how to make sours from flour, water, and henna, how to wrap an arm or a leg to make it look as if he were an amputee. It had been fine for a year or so, but after a while, Gerard had hinted that he was actually thinking about amputating one of Sirius's limbs, and the boy had given him the slip. 

Not that any of those tricks helped him any more. It wasn't likely he'd ever be free of Azkaban to use that particular knowledge again.

  
  



End file.
